


Circling

by calmthestorms



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Haikyuu Jukebox, Happy Ending, Mild Hurt/Comfort, References to Animal Abuse, References to anxiety, Round 1: Mitski, based on A Horse Named Cold Air
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29774694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmthestorms/pseuds/calmthestorms
Summary: When Hitoka is fourteen years old, five months before her first year of high school, her father leaves.
Relationships: Yachi Hitoka & Yachi Madoka, brief mention of Yachi Hitoka and the Karasuno first years
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski





	Circling

A lake with no fish  
Is the heart of a horse  
Named Cold Air  
Who, when young  
Would run like a storm  
They would say, ooh

I thought I'd traveled a long way  
But I had circled  
The same old sin

_A Horse Named Cold Air - Mitski_

-

When Hitoka is fourteen years old, five months before her first year of high school, her father leaves.

She wakes up on a Saturday morning to a stiff, unnatural silence. Uncertain, she walks into the living room to be met with her mother sitting on the edge of an armchair, a heartbroken look on her face.

“Okaa-san?” she whispers.

Her mother jerks, eyes widening. Her face crumples before she can catch herself.

“He’s gone, Hitoka,” she whispers. “Your father is gone.”

Hitoka stares at her. Stupidly, the only thing she can think to say is, “Will he come back?”

Her mother’s lips purse, but Hitoka can see them trembling. “No.” She beckons Hitoka to the chair and draws her into a long, unexpected hug. “I’m sorry, Hitoka-chan,” she whispers, voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And her mother, known throughout their apartment building and her workplace as loud, stern, tough even in the worst situations, whom Hitoka has never seen cry, bursts into tears.

Hitoka hugs her tightly, struggling to breathe. Blankly, she thinks, _he didn’t even say goodbye._

Perhaps the only thing surprising about it is how surprised she is. It’s not like the whispered the arguments and slamming doors were subtle. But somehow, Hitoka never thought her father would just…leave. Not without saying something to her. Not without offering reassurances that they would still talk, still be family.

Years later, her mother will tell her the details that led up to it—her father’s year-long affair, the blame he cast on her mother for her long hours and supposed lack of attention, the time he didn’t spare for his own child, and her mother’s attempts to make it work anyway. Hitoka will nod and cry and laughingly eat a tub of ice cream with her mother, who will stroke her hair and tell her, awe in her voice, how proud she is of Hitoka. When her father reaches out to her a year later to meet, Hitoka will, for the first time, curse him out with every word she knows and block him.

But for now, she looks at her mother, looks at the walls of the apartment housing a fragile, shaken family, and thinks: all this could end.

And she thinks: _what is there to stop you from leaving, okaa-san? Certainly not me. I’m not enough._

Hitoka strokes her mother’s hair, tears slipping silently down her own cheeks, and feels her insides quiver in a way that won’t stop for months.

The months following are a nightmare. Hitoka feels like a ghost. She throws herself into her high school entrance exams, gets into one that’s a short ways away, situated a little outside the heart of the city. She cooks and bakes with gusto, trying to liven up the small, cold apartment on days when the suffocating silence and memory of abandonment threatens to envelop them. It almost works, and on the best days, she and her mother—when she’s home—sit and eat and talk together, and Hitoka thinks: it’s okay. We can do this. We’re a team. She won’t leave.

On the worst days, a new fear dogs Hitoka’s footsteps, making a home for itself deep in her bones beside every other anxious thought that plagues her every moment. That fear leaves Hitoka sleepless and shivering on the nights her mother has a late meeting, curled up on the couch under a blanket and staring at the door with dry, aching eyes. Only when she hears the click of the key in the lock does she dash into her bedroom and get into bed, feigning sleep when her door creaks open and her mother pads in to check on her.

One night, it gets to 3am, and her mother still isn’t home.

Panic claws up Hitoka’s throat, grabs her chest in a vice-like grip. She calls her phone and gets no answer. She tries again, and again, tears starting to make their way down her cheeks.

“Okaa-san,” she sobs into her mother’s voicemail, over and over. “Where are you?” There’s no reply, and the call eventually disconnects.

Hitoka buries her head into her knees and cries. Time slows and turns fuzzy, and her pulse is a dull roar in her ears. Her heart is a quivering lump that falls into her stomach, her breathing ragged as she hyperventilates, trying to ground herself. _One thing I taste: salt._ She hiccups. She brings one hand to her face, another to the blanket to fist it closed around her. _Two things I feel: this blanket and the water on my face. Three things I hear: the tick of the clock. My heartbeat. The door—_

Hitoka’s head snaps up.

Her mother stares back at her, horrified.

Hitoka can see the instant she understands. Her mother’s face drains of colour, and her expression does something awful.

“Hitoka-chan,” her mother says, dropping her bags right there on the stoop and coming to sit on the couch. Hitoka curls into her mother’s arms and it’s like she’s five again, consoled after a nightmare, or eleven, shaking after her first anxiety attack. She lets go.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Hitoka goes to school like normal, and her mother goes to work like normal, the lines around her eyes deep and pinched. Hitoka hates herself for it.

When she gets home, though, her mother is home early and, _unbelievably_ , dressed in casual clothing.

“Are those running shoes?” Hitoka says faintly, her jaw dropping.

Her mother nobly avoids the question. “Pack your things!” she says, smiling. “We’re going on a vacation.”

“Um,” Hitoka says. “I still have school.”

Her mother—her mother!—waves her hand dismissively. “It’s the weekend! And it’ll only be Monday and Tuesday that you miss. Come on, we have to make it to our flight on time and be at the farm by tonight.”

“Flight? _Farm?_ ” Hitoka squawks. Her mother is the archetype of a city girl. They’re going to a _farm?_

“Hitoka-chan!” her mother singsongs impatiently, drawing out every syllable.

“Right! O-okay!” Hitoka says, giving up. As she packs, she finds herself smiling giddily. Vacation! She hasn’t gone on one in years, and certainly not one without her father.

Their vacation ends up being a farm-stay in Hokkaido. Rolling green pastures and wheat fields surround them, the air crisp and cold, nothing like the city. Hitoka feels something unwinding in her shoulders; her heart quietens, that ever-present edge to her nerves dulling. Her mother relaxes in the same way, a light smile on her lips.

“I thought we could use this,” she says softly. “We haven’t been on vacation before, just you and me, Hitoka.” She squeezes Hitoka’s shoulder. “This is just the first of many.”

The first of many. The promise of more. The promise of her mother’s presence.

Hitoka didn’t know how much she needed to hear it.

She also doesn’t know how to tell her mother that she doesn’t quite believe it.

They check into their rooms, which are a private floor on the upper room of the farmhouse. Their hosts are a married couple in their fifties; they greet them warmly and welcome them to a delicious dinner before bed.

Hitoka wakes the next morning to bright morning sunlight in her eyes. Her mother is a warm presence beside her, hand entwined in Hitoka’s. She stirs a few minutes later and stretches, yawning.

“I haven’t slept like that in a long time,” she muses, back cracking.

Hitoka nods, thinking of months of sleepless nights. “Me neither,” she says quietly.

Her mother stills. She fixes Hitoka with a long look, then looks away, hands swiping at her hair, expression twisted. Hitoka looks away, too, awkwardness prickling at her neck.

Both she and her mother have trouble with actually communicating. One vacation won’t fix years of that issue.

They set out to exploring the farm after breakfast. The air is as refreshing as expected, tinged with the smell of hay, grass, and manure. Hitoka hides a smile as her mother’s expression wrinkles at the scent.

It’s when they head towards the back of the farm that Hitoka sees the horse.

Given miles of rolling pasture, the horse is _huge,_ at least seventeen hands high. Its coat is a deep russet colour, and its socks are white. It paces up and down the paddock near the fence, before kicking its heels and racing away in a cloud of dust as it spots them approaching. The agitation and panic are clear in its body.

As if in a dream, Hitoka moves towards the fence. “Careful, Hitoka,” her mother calls, but her voice is hushed, something reverent in her voice as she follows. They rest their elbows on the fence, eyes fixed on the figure of the horse in the distance.

“Okaa-san,” Hitoka says to her mother, not looking at her. “It looks scared.”

Her mother is silent for a long moment. “More than that,” she says finally, her voice rough. “It looks hurt.”

Hitoka nods. She reaches out and takes her mother’s hand.

Something about this horse speaks to both of them, she thinks. The raw pain, the hurt, the apparent lack of trust. Something wild and wounded lurks in its spirit. Just like it does in their family’s.

Or maybe Hitoka is anthropomorphizing, projecting her on feelings on an animal in lieu of, oh, actually _talking_ to her mother.

But she sees her mother glance at her out of the corner of her eye, and she knows it’s not just her.

They ask about the to their hosts over lunch. “Poor thing used to be a racehorse,” Narita-san says, her voice sad. “But she was injured terribly in a race and brought back. Add that to the whipping and shouting, well. She’s traumatized for life, I bet. Won’t come near us. All we can do is give her some space and freedom for however long she lives.” She smiles. “We take the odd horse every so often—my husband has a soft spot for them, seeks them out before they’re put down or sold for meat. I think they live out good lives here.”

“Thank you for doing that,” Hitoka says quietly.

Narita-san looks at her, surprised; Hitoka hasn’t spoken much in the time she’s been here. “Well, we’re happy to do it,” she says warmly. “Now, do you have plans for the rest of the day? There’s a lake out near the edge of town if you’d like to go swimming.”

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. Hitoka and her mother do end up swimming, jumping into the frigid waters of the lake with screams and squeals of laughter, splashing and dunking each other with childish glee. Hitoka can’t remember the last time she had this much fun. Her other vacations with her father, scant as they were, weren’t nearly as carefree as this.

After a dinner in town, they head back to their room for bed. Her mother falls asleep easily, breaths slowing almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

Hitoka tries to sleep, too, but she can’t quite sink into the bed like she did last night. She falls into a half-doze, flashes of shapes and memories and sounds flitting through her mind. Some indeterminable amount of time later, she jerks awake, restlessness running under her skin.

The moon is bright and huge outside, painting the ground and the trees silver. Hitoka eases herself out from her mother’s embrace, pulls on a coat and her shoes, and slips outside.

The paddock looks especially enormous under moonlight, every sound made by the horse loud in the silence of the night. The horse isn’t resting quietly like Hitoka thought she would be. Instead, she’s still cantering somewhere in the middle distance, hoof-falls heavy and fast. She veers a little closer to the fence, maybe ten feet away, her tail swishing as she slows.

Hitoka rests her head against her arms on the fence and watches quietly. And then, she starts to talk.

“I’m scared, too,” she tells the horse. Her face burns; this feels silly. But she knows she needs to talk things out instead of keeping them locked away. Her years of dealing with anxiety have taught her that much. And it’s much easier to tell a horse than her mother.

“I’m scared all the time. And not in the usual way, the way I’ve been dealing with for years. Ever since oto-san left…” Hitoka swallows. “I feel more scared than usual to do things. I feel…inadequate. Like I’m not enough for anything. Or anyone.”

“My dad left,” she says again. Her eyes squeeze shut, useless against the tears starting to stream down her face. “He left, and part of it was because I wasn’t enough. He didn’t even say goodbye. And now I’m just scared of everything. Okaa-san could leave, too. And my friends. And I keep thinking, if I’m enough for him to stick around, what am I good for? What could I offer for anyone?”

She sniffs, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I’m scared to trust in okaa-san or myself,” she whispers. “I’m scared.”

A puff of hot air hits her face.

Hitoka freezes.

Slowly, she opens her eyes.

She is caught in one of those incandescent moments where time slows to a crawl, the kinds that linger and soak into memory, looked back upon with awe, with belief, at the magic of the universe.

The horse’s snout is inches from her face, turned slightly so that Hitoka’s face is caught in her luminous eye. She huffs out a breath again, moving a little closer. Her ears swivel.

“Um,” Hitoka breathes. “Hi.”

The horse’s ears flick, and she paces on the spot.

“I don’t really know what to do right now,” Hitoka confesses. The horse regards her silently. Hitoka can see the muscles between her coat trembling slightly, and the magnitude of the moment strikes her.

Hitoka scrubs at her cheeks, making sure her movements are slow. “You’re so brave,” she whimpers. “You’ve been hurt so badly and you’re still here, near a person. You’re so brave.”

The horse snorts. Hitoka is surprised into laughing. “You _are_ ,” she argues absurdly. “I want to be like that, too.”

The horse bobs her head up and down. Hitoka laughs again. “I’m anthropomorphizing,” she reminds herself.

But, she thinks a little hysterically, who is she to argue with a horse who’s reaching out with scars deeper than hers?

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling. She is caught in the spell of the moonlight, the horse's warm eyes, and it feels so easy to acquiesce suddenly, her fear dissipating like smoke into clear night air. “Okay. I’ll try to trust. Just like you are.” She steps back and bows slightly, fighting back a giggle. “Thank you. I’ll come back with some apples tomorrow, if you want.”

The horse blinks. In the flash of an eye, she turns and trots away.

Hitoka spends a little longer watching her, breath caught in her throat, the world bathed in silver. Eventually, she heads back inside.

The rest of the vacation doesn’t magically fix her relationship with her mother, but they do sit down and talk, Hitoka spilling out some of her anxiety since her father left, her mother about her own trust issues. They spend more time relaxing, bonding, watching the horse. When they get home, Hitoka feels better than she has for a long time. She sleeps easily through the night, comforted by texts from her mother to let her know of her whereabouts, one of their points of concession during their talk.

Her first year at Karasuno comes, and with it, Karasuno’s volleyball club, a new position as manager, an infinite number of insecurities, and the best friends she’s ever had in the form of the first years on the team.

Hitoka’s courage and confidence are fleeting things, grasped tenuously in the moment, at risk of being penetrated by the deep hooks of her greatest fears. But sometimes, she’ll feel hot breath on her face, inhale cold air and hear the echo of a long whinny on the wind.

That memory is an anchor of sorts, even though objectively, it may not be as instrumental as she remembers. Maybe it's silly to think, but it makes her feel better to know there’s something else out there like her. She’s moving forward, just like the horse.

In third year, right after graduation, Hitoka will propose a trip to her best friends to a little farm in Hokkaido. They’ll get there bright and early, and Hitoka will drag them all to the paddock and wait with bated breath.

And the horse will come galloping up right to them, stop in front of Hitoka, and push her snout inquisitively into her chest.

And Hitoka will bury her face into the horse’s sweet-smelling neck and cry tears of joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever had a moment happen in your childhood, or any point in your life, that was so breathtaking and magical that its stuck with you for years and is something that fills with you with wonder and meaning when you think about it, especially in difficult parts of your life? I know I have. 
> 
> This fic was SO hard to write, ahhhh!! I hope some of the themes of the song were captured in it; I took it kind of literally in a VERY self-indulgent way (yes, I was and continue to be a horse girl), as well as a little metaphorically. Please let me know your thoughts, ahhh!!! Comments and kudos would be so appreciated!
> 
> I'm planning an expanded version of this concept, actually - Yachi's family paralleled to Tsukki's and Kageyama's - so watch out for that soon-ish! <3 Thank you all for reading!


End file.
